It was not without satisfaction that I found my 14-year-old son making pesto the other week – for the first 13 years of his life he referred to it as either “pesto-the-bogey-man”, or “gross”. To avoid interfering and sabotaging the moment, I didn’t look too closely, so I didn’t clock the shallow bowl and immersion blender combination. I did hear the noise – a blunt churn – as the blade hit the leaves and nuts. Acting more like a leaf blower than cutter, it sent green and white oily fragments up the cupboards and over pretty much every pot, utensil and tool nearby. Impressively unfazed, he managed to scrape a good proportion of the elements into the food processor and make an extremely tasty pesto, which was mixed with linguine, green beans and potatoes. Less effective was his clearing up (mine too, for that matter), and I am still finding dried green flecks stuck to slotted spoons.
Like mash and crumble, the word pesto comes from an action, in this case pestare, which means to pound or bash repeatedly with a pestle. In much the same way, though, that mash was wedded to potato, and crumble set up home and had kids with apples, pesto came to be associated with basil, pine nuts, pecorino, garlic and olive oil. This happy combination of ingredients occurred in Genoa, in the region of Liguria, hence the name pesto alla Genovese. Such was its popularity, that the pounded sauce joined Cher, Prince and Sade in becoming a one-name celebrity. It is so beloved that some fans have suggested that other pestos are impostors.
